


Get It Right

by milleseptcent



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Awkwardness, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 17:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15823701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milleseptcent/pseuds/milleseptcent
Summary: Jamie has a kid. Gary has feelings. Neither of them have proper communication skills. Somehow, they still end up getting it right.





	Get It Right

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to blindbatalex (@michael-carricks on Tumblr) who beta-ed me and helped make this into something readable despite the fact I went into this knowing nothing about football, England or English football.

When the door opened, Gary was greeted by not one, but two faces. There was the expected Scouse mug, rough and sharp-angled and maybe a little less ugly than Gary would like to admit, especially when he was smiling at him like that, welcoming him in warmly, and then –

“Lily!” Gary exclaimed, earning himself a joyful gurgle and a bright-eyed, toothless smile.

“Well, hello to you too,” Jamie answered.

“Oh, hi, Carragher. Barely noticed you there. Gotta say, this one is a much more pleasant company.”

He was unceremoniously handed the baby with a mumble about going to get some beers – not that Jamie was actually understandable, but that was how these MNF-prep evenings usually went. Lily seemed delighted at the relocation, tiny feet kicking in excitement as she buried her face in Gary’s neck.

“And what are you doing there, angel? Carra finally realized how bad an atmosphere Liverpool is and got you out of that hellhole? Well, London is hardly better. It sure got nothing on a proper Manc upbringing…”

“Will you stop corrupting my kid?” Jamie returned with the promised beers. “Her usual doctor moved to London last month, and I haven’t gotten around to finding her another good one yet, so I figured I might as well bring her along for her six-months appointment. Give her nanny back in Liverpool the weekend off.”

He sat down on the couch. His tone was light, but he wasn’t looking at Gary, his jaw set and a hard edge to the look in his eyes, like he was daring him to call him out on his caregiving and organization skills.

Gary hummed. A few years ago, he’d have risen to the bait recklessly, not caring if he crossed the line between banter and genuine hurt, but with Lily’s warm weight in his arms, there was nothing he could say. Jamie was amazing to the baby he was raising on his own, protective and loving and willing to move heaven and earth to provide her with everything she ever had need for and more.

And, well, Gary himself was pleased to spend some time with her. She was, after all, extremely cute, and he hadn’t seen her in at least a week.

“What are you gonna do with her tomorrow night, though? Can’t have her crying on set.”

Jamie relaxed. “Well, some of your points of analysis sure would give her loads to cry about.”

“Prick.”

“She’s spending the evening at my aunt’s. That woman is crazy about Lil, bless her heart, so she’ll be in good hands... If she doesn’t get spoiled to death by the end of the night.”

Gary hummed again. “So. We’re watching the reds tonight, aren’t we? The lesser ones, I mean.”

There was the fizz of beers being opened, Jamie’s silent eyeroll and the telly being turned on to the pre-recorded game, and then they were on track.

And if all the notes for the show were going to be in Jamie’s horrid chicken-scratch, it was a necessary sacrifice – Gary was not going to put down Lily, was he. Especially when she had such important contributions to make, punctuating their less than professional debates with her blabbering. He was especially thankful for her wail for food right as Jamie was making a desperate case for Liverpool’s hopeless transfer results, forcing him to shut up and go warm up her bottle.

Gary shook his head in refusal when Jamie asked if he wanted to feed her; he found the look in Jamie’s eyes just a tad too soft for his liking as Jamie watched him with Lily in his arms. It was definitely Lily he was looking at, Gary told himself. Certainly not the rat-faced Manc who had just a few minutes ago added one more tally mark to his impressive record of Scouse-abuse and general offense.

Gary pointedly tried to think of nothing as he turned his gaze to the messy notes on the coffee table, the paused game on the telly, Lily’s discarded LFC bib laying on the back of the couch, and Jamie Carragher feeding his kid, swallowing back the affection that clawed at his throat. He reached for the notes and scribbled down his less than charitable observations on Liverpool’s new players.

There. That, at least, would always feel right.

 

 

 

 

·····

 

 

 **[You 4:17 PM]** Everything ok?

  
**[Carragher 4:26 PM]** Coming

  
**[Carragher 4:26 PM]** Should be there in 15

  
**[You 4:27 PM]** Stop texting and hurry

Gary looked around the shared dressing room, frown firmly in place as he gazed over the far corner where Jamie’s station was set up. What had the imbecile Scouse gotten himself into this time, he could only guess.

Despite being quite laid-back (or horribly complacent, depending on who was asked) about the pre-show schedule, Jamie had generally agreed to being at Sky’s Harlequin Street studios three hours prior to the start of the broadcast, if only to calm Gary’s conscientious urges for a well-prepared show and keep him from getting on the whole crew’s nerves. Carragher had certainly been greeted at the door by Gary’s nattering about the importance of work ethics and respect often enough, sometimes with a side of frantic yelling or disdainful grumbling.

So the point held: if the show was to start at 7, Jamie would turn up at 4. And it was almost 30 minutes past that time already.

Gary was not worried for his colleague’s well-being. He was not. He merely wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly on his bloody TV show and said colleague’s abysmal organization was getting in the way.

When Jamie finally decided to barge into the dressing room, he was looking red and dishevelled.

“At last!” Gary called out. “What on earth took you so bloody long?” He took one good look at Jamie and furrowed his brow. “Wait, why is Lily here?”

Jamie sighed, putting the baby car seat on the floor and running a hand through his hair. The makeup ladies were going to have a field day with that, Gary thought absentmindedly.

“Auntie had to go out of town for an emergency; I could find no one else on short notice,” Jamie said through clenched teeth, his expression closed. Gary felt his anger evaporate in a sigh as he looked at Lily’s chubby cheeks and Jamie’s badly concealed distress. He walked over to them.

“Hey. It’s no trouble,” he said, contradicting the opinions he had been strongly holding a minute before. “The ladies will be plenty content to be looking after her, you know how they love to coo at the pictures you always show them. They’ll be delighted.”

“Well, I sure hope so, 'cause it’s not like we have a choice now,” sighed Jamie, sinking down on his chair and bending down to free Lily from her seat. She chattered happily when he took her in his arms, and he let himself smile down at her for a second, before looking back at Gary.

“Alright, well, I’ll go find the ladies and get changed real quick. We can look at the notes while I get my makeup done. I’ll give her the bottle right before we go on air.”

“Sounds good, yeah.”

“Good.” Some tension seemed to escape from Jamie as he realized everything would be fine. “Great. I’ll get going. Can you look over her while I do that? I should be back in 10, 15 max. She shouldn’t need anything, just give her one of her toys if she gets bored. If she cries, you can try taking her into your arms and walking her around a bit.”

“Yeah, thanks, I know how she works, you nugget.”

Jamie rolled his eyes as he set up Lily’s folding chair expertly with one foot and then lowered her into it, securing her. He spread out her blanket on it, curious eyes following his movements all the while.

“I’m just gonna be gone for a tiny bit, you be good to Gaz, right? He’ll be looking after you. A right good girl, you are,” he mumbled, crouching close to her face. Gary shook his head, feeling his insides squeeze unpleasantly as he heard his colleague mumble the nickname in his thick, affectionate Scouse accent.

 

 

 

 

·····

 

 

Gary was floating in some sort of hazy half-asleep state when his phone pinged and startled him half-awake. The blue glow of his screen lit up his room and he squinted at it.

 **[Carragher 1:19 AM]** _Picture attachment sent._

  
**[You 1:21 AM]** Go to sleep

 **[Carragher 1:22 AM]** Wasn’t expecting you to be awake still

 **[Carragher 1:22 AM]** Waiting for Lily to go back to sleep

 **[You 1:22 AM]** Maybe I’d be sleeping if I wasn’t being texted in the middle of the night

 **[Carragher 1:23 AM]** Sorry

 **[Carragher 1:24 AM]** Need me to teach you about the wonders of silent mode?

Gary scoffed, feeling a little bit more awake as his banter senses tingled, but not awake enough to feel embarrassed at the fact that he had no answer to Jamie’s quip.

Oh, he knew perfectly well how silent mode worked. But when he had noticed that Jamie had taken the habit of texting him links to dumb articles and silly pictures every time Lily woke him up during the night, he’d begun not wanting to miss these pieces of late-night Jamie.

 **[You 1:22 AM]** Is she sleeping yet?

 **[Carragher 1:24 AM]** _Picture attachment sent._

Gary huffed a laugh at the selfie, Jamie looking tired and dishevelled as he cuddled a wailing, red-faced baby against his chest with one arm, the other extended awkwardly to take the picture.

 **[You 1:25 AM]** Isn’t she a delight

 **[Carragher 1:30 AM]** She’s calmed down now. An angel again

 **[Carragher 1:31 AM]** _Picture attachment sent._

 **[You 1:33 AM]** Nighty night then

 **[Carragher 1:33 AM]** Good night Neville

 

 

 

 

·····

 

 

“Leave me alone, will ya,” Jamie said to David, a bit louder than necessary. The latter was apparently feeling quite cheerful after a pint of stout at their usual pub, and found it was the best timing to lay out his detailed theory on how the waitress was definitely making eyes at Jamie and actually had been for the past year – even though Gary was pretty sure she had only been hired a few months prior.

“Aw, come on. It’s not like you’ve got any sweetheart waiting for you at home, is it?”

Jamie sneaked a glance at Gary, and Gary looked down his glass. Now, this was no proper conduct between colleagues who had a relationship strictly defined by banter, weird domesticity, and most especially the will to forget about those two times they had made out – three, if Gary counted that one time in 2010, but he wasn’t that desperate, and anyways, as previously mentioned, he was (they were) trying to get over it. So.

“I don’t,” said Jamie slowly. “Not really at my most popular, either. After all, who’d fancy an old, football-obsessed Scouser with a kid?”

Gary’s internal monologue kicked up immediately at that, and sometimes he really was sick of the way he was so uncontrollably opinionated. _You’ve been obsessed with football your entire goddamn life, if you took that away that’s half your personality gone as well as your entire life story so you'd better cherish it and have some fucking pride, not to mention you're fairly decent at it, you prick –_

And _being 40 looks good on you, asshole, how dare your wrinkles and grey hair make you look mature and fetching instead of old and how dare you be so fit –_

And _the makeup ladies certainly thought you were fine enough the other night, when you brought Lily to the studio and I walked in on them at intermission –_

He’d gone to their shared changing room to get his phone, crossing paths with Jamie who was coming back from checking on Lily, and when he’d walked in, they were all cooing over Lily’s crib, exclaiming about _Isn’t he just charming, our Jamie with his little one, oh, hi Gary, don’t you think so too?_

And the worst thing was, Gary certainly thought so, actually, had been able to think of little else as he had watched Jamie give Lily the bottle from across the MNF table, Lily nestled between his arms, in his suit and nodding along as Gary went over the notes even as she was gazing up at him lovingly. He’d had to avert his eyes from the way Jamie’s brows were slightly furrowed in concentration, and had instead gone on a retaliatory tangent on the sorry state of Arsenal’s defence, glaring at Lily’s tiny fists closed around Jamie’s fingers.

Gary shook himself out of the memory, emptying his glass, and put his restless mind to a better use by steering the conversation towards the relatively safer – though no less laden with sexual tension – topic of the upcoming Liverpool-United derby.

 

  

·····

 

 

This time, Gary was in Liverpool, on Jamie’s – and Lily’s, to his greatest despair – territory. He did find himself dropping by the Carragher residence increasingly often since Lily had arrived, to save Jamie the trouble of driving to Manchester with the little one in tow. To think he had needed an entire human baby to be born for him to put aside his pride and visit Jamie – well.

Anyways, he was at Jamie’s. He did not understand much about being a single father – or caretaker, he guessed, since Lily and Jamie were not related in that way; but he thought that Jamie looked relieved on the nights he came over. Of course, they did not talk about it, because that was not what retired footballers did. They were too old for the passion, the fear, the fire of the game, which got young players to open their hearts in the quiet of foreign hotel rooms or the frenzy of post-game parties.

But Gary still understood, from the way Jamie sometimes showed up for Monday Night Football looking exhausted, a guilty mixture of relieved and worried at being away from Lily for the weekend, at the opportunity to talk about something else than nappies or the average age of teething.

That was also why Gary had been quick to offer his help when Jamie had begun to look more and more worked up as he tried to convince Lily to eat her blueberry compote. She was joyfully spitting the purple mixture all over a two-feet radius, not caring one bit as Jamie’s countenance seemed to slip away from affable to a quiet but murderous focus that he had in the past reserved for tenser games.

Most of said games having been against himself, Gary knew that the quiet was actually a storm brewing and that Jamie was minutes away from exploding as he stubbornly plunged the spoon in the baby-sized jar once more. He sighed and put his hand on Jamie’s, grimacing when he felt it coated in blueberry spit.

“Look, Carra, it’s fine. She’s had half of the thing,” he said.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Half of the thing’s gone alright, but not to her mouth.”

“Come on, let it go. Go get washed up and changed.” He looked at him and smiled mockingly. “Look at you, you’ve even got some of it in your hair. If I knew you were that desperate to cover your grey patches...”

“Sod off,” Jamie said absently, raising a hand to his temple and finding it sticky, convincing him to give up and set the jar on the coffee table. “Might as well shower while I’m at it. Give me a minute, I’ll give her the bottle later.” He threw a stern glance in Lily’s direction. “You better not be making any complaints to Gary about being hungry, young lady.”

Jamie came back ten minutes later, smelling like shampoo and freshly applied cologne, warm and hair still a bit wet, and very much making Gary feel a wee bit weak in his knees.

“Has she been crying?” he asked, providing a helpful distraction.

“No, thank God she hasn’t.”

“You’re a wicked lass, aren’t you dear,” Jamie mumbled as he crouched down to look at Lily, his accent getting stronger like it did every time he talked to her, and Gary always wanted to tell him to enunciate clearly lest she ends up with an insurmountable setback for life. She smiled up at him, all bright eyes and chubby cheeks (freshly wiped clean of any trace of blueberry disaster, courtesy of Gary), and Jamie could not help but smile back, fond and soft.

“Charming me and Gaz, taking advantage of our old hearts to make us forget about your tantrums. That’s not nice.”

Gary felt his mouth tighten at the corners. This was what it could be like if they got it right, wasn't it? He could drive to Jamie’s and be coming home, and coo at Lily instead of grumbling at his telly, and she’d grow up with a Mancunian lilt to her Scouse-deformed words and be woefully incomprehensible to anyone but them but they’d be happy –

Gary stopped his thoughts right there, and opened his mouth with every intention to pick at Jamie’s accent, but before he could catch himself, he was suddenly blurting out:

“She’s a cute one, though, isn’t she? She has your eyes.”

Jamie did not say anything at first, still looking at Lily, brushing her cheek.

“Yeah, guess she is.” He turned to Gary, and hell if his eyes weren’t looking a bit misty. “Thanks. It… It means a lot.”

“Heh, wouldn’t be thanking me if I were you. Sure hope she doesn’t inherit the rest of your ugly mug,” added Gary to break the tension.

Well, it seemed tonight wouldn’t be the night for them to be getting it right.

 

 

 

·····

 

 

“Why does she always cry before falling asleep?”

“A lot of babies do that, the nanny told me. They’re scared.”

“Scared of what?” Gary scoffed. A nap wasn’t such a horrible fate for sure? He himself knew he’d like to catch a fair bit more of them than he did.

Jamie looked up at him, oddly serious. This was not one of his usual stares, the sometimes intense, sometimes amused, sometimes something-else ones that Gary caught from the corner of his eye at the studio or at the pub or at home.

No, the look in his eyes was more like the way he had gazed at him right before he’d kissed him, the second time, calculating and afraid and wanting – Gary swallowed and pushed the memory away, not wanting to remember how overwhelming it had all been, and especially not the way he had panicked and fled and not answered texts for the next two weeks.

“The unknown, I guess. Falling, letting themselves go, not knowing where. Abandonment. They’re so tiny, and everything that is new is scary, you know?”

Suddenly the room seemed very quiet, with only Lily’s loud breathing between them.

“I know.”

 

 

 

·····

 

 

 

Gary pushed his feet down on the pedal and pulled the gear shift towards him, keeping his mind carefully blank as he went through the familiar motions of parking his car. He checked behind him for any other vehicle, unlikely as it was with the hour on his dashboard’s digital clock bordering on very early in the morning. He took a few more seconds to make sure the distance between his tires and the pavement was proper as he carefully slotted in between two other cars, rectifying his angle to get it just right.

After one last look of confirmation that his maneuver was flawless, he lowered the handbrake and turned off ignition, plunging the car in the dark. And then there was nothing else for him to do, and Gary was left staring blankly in front of him.

He was _not_ having a car breakdown. He had managed to think of nothing along the entire way from Manchester to Liverpool, the road familiar enough for him to turn off his mind completely.

His plan as he had pulled out of his Mancunian driveway had been an easy one. First, drive to Jamie’s. Second, get things right with Jamie – and with himself. Simple. Basic. Admittedly, one of these two steps came with much clearer directions than the other, but...

Fine, so maybe he was having a car breakdown.

He had been mulling over his thoughts from the other night at Jamie’s, or, well, trying not to mull over them and failing. What if they did get it right? What if he allowed himself to say yes the next time Jamie asked if he wanted to give Lily the bottle, to help find someone to look after her while they were off filming at Sky, to take her to the doctor appointments and to come home to her babbling?

Would it be that different, to finally admit to leaving his phone on each night away from Jamie and Lily just to feel closer to them? To banter at the pub about how Jamie was old and undesirable, and then to drive to Liverpool – like he had done just now – and to kiss him and slide his hands over his shoulders and chest and –

Getting it right meant communicating, and that was terrifying, but he was getting old, and the vertigo of the missed opportunities for fear of rejection and for too much pride; that was maybe a tad bit scarier than an awkward conversation with his best friend.

For now, all he was getting out of the whole retirement deal was wrinkles and a cushy amount of money, and call him an overachiever, but he wanted more. Had always wanted more since he was a wee lad on a Mancunian playground, and he was not about to stop now. He too wanted to live his retirement dream, like his mates did, with the emotional stability and the relative wisdom that made for wistful conversations at the pub.

Gary sighed, feeling very much like letting his head drop down on the steering wheel. He had not had many car breakdowns in his life – those were kind of difficult to arrange when most important fixtures in your life were preceded and followed by team bus rides. Even in Valencia, he had managed to keep himself surrounded, by Phil, by assistant managers, by his PR team. But now, it was only him, staring at Jamie’s contact on his phone and losing the battle of stubbornness between his repressed brain and annoying feelings.

It was late, but hell, Gary had been woken up often enough by Jamie’s late-night texts for him to feel only moderately remorseful. At least he’d had the mindfulness not to ring at Jamie’s door with Lily sleeping in the house – and yes, that was mindfulness, not him trying to delay the inescapable.

The phone rang three times before Jamie picked up and let out an unidentifiable groan. Feeling fidgety, Gary opened his car door and stepped into the dark, wet night of Liverpool.

“Hello. Can you, huh, get the door?”

“What?” Jamie said, sounding disoriented.

“The door. Open it. I’m, huh, I’m here.”

“What?” Jamie said again.

“For heaven’s sake, just open your bloody door. I’ll explain.”

“Fine?” There was the sound of sheets rustling, and then the call disconnected.

Gary took a deep breath and crossed the street to Jamie’s doorstep, right as the man himself appeared in the frame. They stared at each other for a moment, both trying to figure out the how’s and why’s of the situation.

In the end, Jamie broke the silence.

“What in God’s name, Neville?” He had apparently moved past single syllables to fully-fledged expressions of bewilderment. He was also trying his best to convey a yell through shushed tones. Right, Lily, the nursery was just down the hall, Gary remembered.

Gary pushed past Jamie and went straight to the living room, sitting on the couch before looking up at Jamie who had followed him, still bleary-eyed and looking vaguely cross.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“Huh,” Gary thought about it for a few seconds. “Not really, no.”

Jamie’s sat down on the couch next to Gary, holding himself rigid. Redness was beginning to creep up his neck, a sure sign that sleepy confusion was slowly giving way to real annoyance.

“So what you’re telling me, Neville,” he started, still keeping his voice down. “Is that, what, you couldn’t sleep? So you figured you would just call on your old mate Jamie for a little midnight chat? Don’t you have other people to bother?”

Gary frowned, feeling himself get frustrated. This was not at all how this was supposed to go. It was like Jamie was not even _trying_ to understand. He opened his mouth, then closed it, browsing through the arrangement of semi-truths he had half-planned on saying. What he had not anticipated was the mess of contradictory and jittery feelings that was keeping it all firmly bottled up, and the fact that Jamie would, actually, _not_ be overjoyed at the prospect of a late-night heart-to-heart.

“Damn it, Jamie!” He finally forced out, exasperated and avoiding Jamie’s eyes. “It’s not that, you know I wouldn’t.”

“What, then? It better be good, because I’m losing sleep here.”

“We... “ Gary hesitated, before thinking, sod it all, he was only saying out loud what they both knew. “We need to talk.”

Jamie stared back at him, looking not angry at all anymore, but alarmed instead. It would have been funny, all the muscles in his face going slack all of a sudden, if he hadn’t immediately gotten up and stalked away with a stammer of “going to fix us some tea” above his shoulder.

Gary groaned and let his head fall in his hands, allowing himself a few seconds of desperation. Wasn’t Jamie supposed to be the reasonable one, the one that was good at all of that emotion bullshit? With all his talks about how they were mates now, best mates, weren’t they, and his pushing Gary away, almost one year ago now, when he’d tried to kiss Jamie for the first time at the pub, wet and filthy and tasting like gin, and Jamie had quietly told him they should really reconsider this when they were both sober, his warm arm around Gary’s waist and blue eyes looking regretful.

Well, they were sober now, and one year of running away from Jamie and from confrontation had been exactly the time Gary had needed for reconsideration, and this was happening, whether Jamie liked it or not. And if Gary ended up with a broken heart, well. He had picked himself up after worse things, hadn’t he.

Gary got up as well, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest and followed Jamie to the kitchen, finding him staring at the kettle.

“Don’t avoid me,” Gary said.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

Jamie raised his eyes to meet Gary’s.

“Alright, I am. Whatever it is you’ve got to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

Well, that hurt. Gary felt his breath catch in his throat, and that was all he could do to keep his mouth from falling open.

“Why?”

Jamie’s mouth was tight at the corners, his hands clenching and unclenching around the mug he was holding. He was looking at the kettle again, the faint whistle of the boiling water the only noise in the room.

“I got Lily now. You’ve made it clear enough that you’re not… Interested in, well, whatever was going on these two times. It’s fine. I’ve got it. I’ve moved on…” _Three times_ , Gary thought helplessly, but he was not that pathetic and so he remained silent, staring at Jamie like he was trying to figure him out and failing.

Jamie let go of the mug, his hands going up to rub at his forehead as he muttered. “Well, not really. But we’ve got an arrangement, haven’t we? It works. It’s good. We’re good friends, aren’t we? You’re good to Lily, she loves you, you know.”

He looked up at Gary, his voice taking an almost forlorn edge at the end. Gary met his gaze blankly, eyes wide. _This was not at all how it was supposed to go._

“She’s a lot, you know, I just... I don’t have time to fool around with you if you’re just going to change your mind. It’s going to end badly. I can’t have that. It’s not fair, for me, for her. You understand?”

Gary’s thoughts felt like they were going too fast, zooming past him before he could catch anything. What the hell was Jamie going on about? He opened his mouth, more to stop Jamie from spewing out further bullshit than out of real inspiration.

“I understand,” he heard himself say, which was a complete lie. “I, I know. That she’s a lot. Hell, Carra, I’ve been here most days than not lately! Here,” he pulled his phone out in a frenzied motion, waving it around, “I’ve even got the nanny’s number on me phone! God, Jamie, you really think I would have done all this just to – to get into your pants and then leave? I know how she is, I know how you are, I...”

He stopped suddenly, because Jamie had circled the kitchen counter, walking towards him, only hesitating a little before stepping close. Jamie slowly raised his hand until his fingers closed around Gary’s wrist, steadying him gently, with a caution he usually reserved for Lily – and, well, apparently, Mancs trying to deal with feelings.

He took the phone from Gary’s hand, setting it on the counter, before releasing his wrist, hands hovering for an instant before taking both of Gary’s hands between his. Gary glanced down at them before looking back at Jamie, studying the way his jaw was set, his breathing quick.

“Do you,” Gary started. “Do you want this?”

“God, Gary. ‘Course I do,” Jamie breathed out, and then Gary was kissing him, and it was almost familiar by now, except it was really not, because here they were standing in Jamie’s kitchen, Gary’s fingers tangling in the soft shirt he wore to bed, and he could hear the hitch in his breath and his sigh as he slipped a bit of tongue in the kiss – none of the raucous noise of the bar, that first time, or the frenzy of the studio post-MNF that other time, or even the faint roar of Old Trafford above their heads that one time that shouldn’t have counted but did anyways.

Gary felt himself smiling. It occurred to him that they must have looked ridiculous, two old men holding hands, Jamie in boxers and a ratty shirt against Gary who hadn’t even taken off his shoes or coat. Gary broke the kiss and chuckled, shaking his head, and Jamie was still looking at him, but a smile was spreading on his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re a daft sod. I want this, too. I’m sure. Really sure, like.”

“Alright,” said Jamie, and then he was leaning in again and Gary did not have to say anything more, which was good because he really did not want to have to disclose that he’d had a whole midlife crisis centered around Jamie and that he might have had a few daydreams about the both of them growing old together with Lily. That would come later. If Jamie ever needed more reassurance. Gary was hoping he never would.

A few minutes later, and Jamie had to break away to stifle a yawn in Gary’s shoulder.

“Well, is that how my burning kisses have got you feeling like?” Gary teased, resting his nose in Jamie’s hair and sliding his hands up his back until they rested on his neck.

“Shut up,” Jamie answered, yawning again. “Not my fault you’ve got the worst sense of timing ever.”

Gary did not answer, instead disentangling from him and taking his hand and guiding them to Jamie’s bedroom.

“Come on. We should get some sleep. We’ll have time later.”

“Will we, now,” said Jamie, his tone pleasant, but Gary shot him a suspicious glance. They had, after all, a long history of dissimulating raw feelings under layers of banter.

“Yeah, you plum. I told you, I’m not going anywhere. Come now.”

As Gary drifted off next to an already fast asleep Jamie – raising a kid would do that to you – he could not help but pat himself on the back at a plan well executed. If car breakdowns were that successful, maybe he should have gotten on it earlier in his career, after all.

 

 

 

·····

 

 

Gary tipped his head back on the pillows as he moaned, feeling Jamie’s answering groan against his neck.

“Fucking hell, Neville, you have no idea, the way you look…” Jamie mumbled, breath warm against his collarbone, like he wasn’t the one slowly undoing Gary with the warm, calloused touch sliding on on his hips and his thighs, and the pressure of his groin against his erection.

Gary moaned again at the words, putting his hands on the collar of Jamie’s open dress shirt and pulling him up, flush against him in a kiss, open-mouthed and warm and closer, _closer_ …

Suddenly, a wail pierced through the air, making Jamie jump. His teeth knocked painfully into Gary’s lip, making him yelp.

They broke apart as Gary’s hand flew to his mouth, and they looked at each other, panting, the mood thoroughly ruined. Muffled through the bedroom wall, Lily’s unmistakable cries were still going strong. Jamie groaned, in annoyance rather than pleasure this time, and slowly got up.

“Sometimes I swear I hate her, that little minx.”

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t,” sighed Jamie, chucking his rumpled dress shirt on a chair and putting on an old tee-shirt. He left the room, and Gary buried his face in the pillow. He’d been waiting for this for months, and been in denial of it even longer, and _that_ was the night Lily picked for a nice little temper tantrum?

He sat up on the bed but suddenly stilled. Under the rustling of the sheets, he thought he’d heard –

Yes, that was right. It sounded like Jamie was singing to Lily. Oh, that was priceless, he just had to go and see it for himself. He got up as silently as he could, checking he was decent enough before creeping across the corridor and into the nursery. And sure, there Jamie was, his back turned to him, leaning over Lily’s crib, one hand resting on her belly, singing to her in a low, calming voice.

Gary froze in the doorway as the tune changed. That couldn’t be right… But he’d recognize that rhythm anywhere, even if a Scouse baby’s nursery was the last place he’d expected to hear it.

Jamie was quietly intoning _Glory Glory Man United_ to his own kid, in his own home, in the middle of the night. Gary was transfixed, looking at Jamie’s darkened profile. Lily had stopped crying, and she was cuddling his hand, looking up at him in adoration, and Gary had never related more to someone who was eight and a half months old in his life.

Now, the chant had always made his heart beat and the blood flow red in his veins, of course, as clichéd as it sounded, since he was barely taller than Lily. But hearing it in Jamie’s Scouse accent – it should have been annoying, how he was butchering it, but it was making his heart nearly burst through his chest in want and wonder.

He approached slowly, his feet thumping softly on the floor, and Jamie turned around to glance at him.

“Oh heaven's sake.”

Gary smiled, aiming for jeering or at least mildly cheeky but probably landing on amused and disgustingly fond.

“So you sing Manc songs for her to fall asleep to. Interesting. I see you finally took my advice on good education.”

“You sod. Don’t even mention it. I’ve tried all of the Liverpool ones, but she won’t have it. It’s the bane of my existence.”

“What is it they say about how children are the holders of the truth?”

“Don’t flatter yourself or your useless team. Your games these days are certainly appropriate to make anyone fall asleep. Actually happened once too, if I remember correctly, didn’t it?”

At that, he looked at Lily, who had quieted down. She was breathing peacefully, still holding onto Jamie’s hand. He extricated it gently from her grasp, before turning to Gary.

“Think we can go back to bed. But we’d better keep it quiet.”

Suddenly Gary was very interested in all the different ways he could have Jamie sing the praise of Man United.

A while later, Gary was pressing sleepy kisses to Jamie’s shoulder when he said, voice rough and heavy with sleep and accent:

“And you don’t even know what her favourite Manc song is…”

“What is it?” Gary mumbled.

“Gary Neville is a red.”

Gary froze at that, before turning his head into Jamie’s neck.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Makes her laugh every single time. Don’t know why that is.”

There was a beat, then:

“I don’t hate Scousers, though.”

“Don’t you?”

“I guess a case could be made for a few of them.”

“Oh, Gazza. I don’t hate you either.”

“Who said it’s you I’m talking about?”

Jamie kissed him, and after that all was quiet, and finally right.

**Author's Note:**

> Some facts I checked for this fic:  
> \- Jamie's writing is actually pretty okay, but let's no underestimate the power of Gary's Scouse-bashing  
> \- There is actually such a thing as LFC bibs and you can get them on the official merch site (they're on sale atm, too, so go grab yourself a deal).  
> Baby knowledge is based on my real-life experiences of cohabitating with a 6-months-old. Thanks to my baby brother who had to endure me n my other siblings shouting various supporter chants at him to see his reaction (he does actually really love Gary Neville Is A Red and most man utd songs, LFC ones make him cry sometimes, french nt chants are a mixed success and he doesn't care for anything german at all, so, there.)  
> Say hello to me on tumblr @sombrebail!! Also please give feedback, it is IMPORTANT.


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